


Seventeen Steps

by Johnnlocked (Krullenbol2602)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Angst, Arguing, Grieving John, John is a Bit Not Good, Not A Fix-It, Not Happy, Off-screen Death(s), One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Post-His Last Vow, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock is a Mess, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krullenbol2602/pseuds/Johnnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘No!’ John barks out and Sherlock freezes. ‘Stay there or I swear to God, I’ll put you in the ground myself.’</p><p>Something cold and horrible settles inside Sherlock’s stomach and it nearly consumes him. It hurt, he notes. It burns and freezes him, it rips him apart and leaves him hollow and sick and he’d much rather feel the cracking of a whip against his skin than to endure this for much longer.<br/>Moriarty made a promise once, Sherlock remembers as John clenches his fists and stares him down. He vowed to burn the heart out of him. </p><p>It is only now that Sherlock realises that Moriarty made good on his promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventeen Steps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wfg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wfg/gifts).



> This was written in a couple of hours after a prompt by the amazing Jacky, who requested a post series 3 Mary dies because Sherlock made a mistake fic with lots and lots of angst. I hope I managed to deliver.

It is his fault. Sherlock is startlingly aware of the fact. It is his fault that John is now forced to put his wife and his daughter – not even born nor named –  into the cold ground. It is his fault John’s hands can’t stop trembling. It is his fault that John has to walk slower because of his leg.

Sherlock feels sick at the sight of Mary’s coffin disappearing underneath the sand. He wants to scream when he sees John forcing back a sob next to him. He could have prevented this.

 

Sherlock doesn’t linger after the funeral. He goes back to Baker Street – he is fleeing, he knows he is but he is too soaked up in his own grief and regret that he doesn’t notice the similarity between now and the night of John’s wedding – without looking John in the eye.

He’ll figure it out, Sherlock knows. John was always more clever than most. He’ll figure it out.

 

Mycroft had tried to warn him, Sherlock remembers as he returns to a silent flat. He had reminded him of what nearly went wrong the last time Sherlock decided to keep John out of things. To do it on his own. But Sherlock had deemed the risk too great.

Moriarty was back, alive after all and hell-bent on getting his revenge. To destroy Sherlock’s world once and for all. John was the obvious target. Of course, he was; even back then Jim had known John was the key to Sherlock’s heart, to his life.

There was nothing Sherlock Holmes would not do for John Watson after all and everyone seemed to know it.

So Sherlock had brushed the information Mycroft had on Mary away. It didn’t matter. Not anymore. He had suspected Mary had dealings with Moriarty in the past, but she didn’t now. She loved John, truly loved him and for that love she had risked everything. And she had won.

 

She had married John, carried his daughter and fought hard to win back the love John had for her after the shooting. Magnussen’s death had offered them the second chance they deserved. So when Moriarty announced his return, Sherlock would do anything, anything at all, to keep John Watson safe.

 

But where Sherlock had focused his attention on John and kept him in the dark to keep him safe, Moriarty had turned to Mary. And it had been over before Sherlock even realised what was happening.

 

It is his fault.

 

As Sherlock waits, he keeps reminding himself of that fact. Mrs Hudson tries to make him eat and she urges him to go to sleep, but he won’t. He can’t. He keeps seeing John at Mary’s grave, he keeps drowning in the red of Mary’s blood when he dreams. So he waits.

John will figure it out.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Three days. It takes John three days after the funeral to go to Baker Street and climb the stairs to the flat he once inhabited.

Sherlock can hear that John knows; his gait is heavy, reluctant, angry. He is limping again. Not as bad as before – no cane needed yet – but it is there and Sherlock hates it. His fault, he knows as John throws open the door. It is all his fault.

 

John’s jaw is clenched and there is something in his eyes that force Sherlock to take a step back. This is more than just anger. This is worse, far worse, than that night where they confronted Mary. The line has been crossed. It is over.

 

‘You knew.’ John’s voice is doing something dark and Sherlock looks down, trying to hide himself away without running away. ‘You fucking bastard, you knew that he… LOOK AT ME!’

 

Sherlock’s head snaps up. He should say something. Anything. But his throat feels tight and dry and no matter what he says will make this right so what is the point?

 

‘You always lied to me. You never trusted me enough to tell the truth. I should have bloody known after that stunt you pulled. But I trusted you. You told me you did it to save my life and I believed you. You promised me you would never do that again and now I…’

 

John’s voice breaks and Sherlock feels himself taking a step forward.

 

‘No!’ John barks out and Sherlock freezes. ‘Stay there or I swear to God, I’ll put you in the ground myself.’

 

Something cold and horrible settles inside Sherlock’s stomach and it nearly consumes him. It hurt, he notes. It burns and freezes him, it rips him apart and leaves him hollow and sick and he’d much rather feel the cracking of a whip against his skin than to endure this for much longer.

Moriarty made a promise once, Sherlock remembers as John clenches his fists and stares him down. He vowed to burn the heart out of him.

 

It is only now that Sherlock realises that Moriarty made good on his promise.

 

‘You knew she used to work for him,’ John continues, ‘you knew that and you said nothing! Not once. You left me in the dark, again. There was nothing I could do to protect them, Sherlock! Our girl…’

 

Something inside Sherlock breaks at the sight of John fighting against his tears and rage.

 

_My fault… my fault…_

 

‘John, I…’

 

‘Shut up. You’ve had your chance to say something. I’m done, Sherlock. I lost everything because of you. If it hadn’t been for you…’

 

_I know, John. I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry…_

John takes a deep breath and swallows the rest of that sentence before turning around.

 

He’s leaving.

 

There are seventeen steps on the stairs; Sherlock has counted them often. He had never dared to imagine the moment John Watson would walk down those steps for the last time.

Sherlock doesn’t move when he hears John’s foot land on the first step and he finds himself counting them, again, to distract himself from the horrible feeling in the vicinity of his heart. This is it. John is leaving. Not coming back. Ever.

 

_‘I will burn the heart out of you.’_

 

Sixteen

_‘Give my love to Mary, tell her she is safe now…’_

Fifteen.

_‘Catch… you… later…’_

_‘No, you won’t!’_

Twelve.

_‘… two people who love you most in all this world…’_

Ten

 

_‘Nobody could be that clever.’_

_‘You could.’_

Seven

_‘Look how you care about John Watson.’_

Five.

 

‘John?’

 

The name escapes him before Sherlock can stop himself and for one second the footsteps on the stairs halt. For one second, Sherlock dares to hope that John will come back. That he’ll turn around and forgive him, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

But then the footsteps resume their path away from him and when Sherlock hears the front door slam closed, his knees buckle in response.

 

_John… I’m so sorry._


End file.
